“Do not forget your place, Diana,” she said aloud, slapping the gloves against her hand. She left the room and walked down the corridor. The sound of the group in the drawing room was enough to hurry her on her way to do what she should have done in the first place—give the misplaced gloves to the hotel management in case Alexandros Metaxas came looking for them.
When she arrived downstairs, she saw nobody at the reception desk and turned toward the dining room, hoping to find assistance there. Though the doors to the outside patio were locked, the shutters were open and the curtains pulled aside to allow in the night air. At this hour, the streets were silent, and Diana could hear the waves from the sea that surrounded the city on three sides.
Finding no one in the restaurant, she decided to knock on the door of the hotel offices. She stopped, whipping her head around when someone walked on the street past the window. Not merely someone—Alexandros Metaxas. She was certain of it.
She hurried to the front door, pushing it open and rushing outside. Alexandros—there was no doubt about it—turned down an alleyway next to the hotel. Diana took a step but halted when she heard someone calling to her.
A man dressed in a doorman’s livery was hurrying from the direction of the hotel offices. “Miss?” The sound of the door opening must have alerted him to his negligence. “Miss, shall I send for a carriage?” He spoke with a thick accent.
Diana looked back toward the corner of the building. “No, thank you. I only mean to step out for a bit of air.”
“Surely you need a cloak. The sea air will chill you.” He had obviously been trained to anticipate the needs of British patrons, and Diana realized how ridiculous she was acting, running outside with no bonnet, gloves, or wrap.
She glanced back toward the place she’d seen Alexandros disappear. Curiosity burned inside her. What business did he have at this hour? If she returned to her bedchamber and came back properly dressed, she would lose the chance to catch him.
When she returned her gaze to the man, who stood patiently holding open the door, she realized she was standing in the street in the middle of the night, improperly attired, carrying a man’s gloves, and staring out at the darkness. What had gotten into her?
“Yes, of course.” She nearly rolled her eyes at her foolishness and took a step back toward the building. “I’m sorry—”
At the sound of voices from inside, the man looked over his shoulder. The officers and their wives were leaving the dinner party and headed right toward them.
Diana’s chest tightened. “Excuse me,” she said, and instead of stepping through the open door, she ducked her head and rushed away. Mrs. Kerry and Mrs. Wheaton were the last people she wished to meet, especially caught in such an improper circumstance. She darted to the corner of the building and turned down the dark alleyway. Now that she was here, she realized finding Alexandros would be impossible. The scant moonlight barely lit the narrow lane. She crouched down behind a potted tree, grateful for the dark shadows that concealed her. She could not imagine what would happen if she were discovered. Once the party departed, she would return to the hotel, turn over the gloves to the doorman, and put all of this nonsense behind her.
She watched from her uncomfortable crouching position as the carriage arrived and the two couples climbed inside.
Once the sound of hooves and the rattle of wheels on cobblestones receded and Diana could hear the whisper of the waves again, she rose, brushing off her skirts. “That is quite enough adventure for one lifetime,” she muttered. She stepped around the large pot, but the sound of a door closing echoed down the alleyway.
She crouched back in the shadows as footsteps approached. A man walked out of the blackness carrying a bulky pack on his shoulder. Though it was dark, she could see the outline of his loose clothing. He walked with quiet steps, and she got the distinct impression he did not wish to be seen.
Diana shrunk back. Her heart pounded, and she prayed the stranger would not notice her. What sort of man crept about the streets at night? He was obviously up to no good. Should she alert someone?
The man paused at the entrance to the alley and glanced in either direction before walking into the street and turning his steps away from the hotel.
Diana gasped when the moonlight shone on his face. Alexandros Metaxas!
Chapter 3
Alex darted his eyes back and forth as he walked through the city’s winding streets. His ears strained for any noise, most precisely that of soldiers’ marching feet. The tall buildings cast strange shadows over the narrow streets, and more than once he’d been startled by a stray cat. He did not let down his guard, but the longer he walked, his confidence in the success of his mission grew.
Aside from the soldiers who had followed him from the waterfront, he’d not drawn a second glance the entire day. He’d harbored a bit of worry that he’d not find the man he was to meet. Not only had he not been told the man’s name, Alex knew nothing about him. The Filiki Eteria operated under extreme secrecy—essential for a secret society—and members seldom knew the identities of more than a few others. Alex himself had met only three members besides his leader Xánthos and the intelligence man who had provided disguises and maps and information about the mission.
In spite of Alex’s worry, the contact had met him precisely on time and informed Alex that all arrangements had been made. Everything was progressing according to plan. The Mavromichaleis awaited him.
A roll of nausea moved through his stomach, but he breathed deeply. The Mavromichalis clan was the very strongest of the Maniots. Their leader was also the bey—a local chieftan—Petros Mavromichalis. Petrobey was the man Alex had been sent to recruit to the cause. But even meeting with the man would be difficult. The last few beys had been tricked by the Turks into leaving their strongholds and were then executed. The Mavromichaleis would undoubtedly guard their patriarch carefully. Alex must not give them any reason to question his intent. He did not doubt for an instant that they would have no qualms about throwing his body into the sea if they believed the bey to be in danger.
An audience with Petrobey was not Alex’s only worry. The Maniots were isolated, unpredictable, naturally suspicious of outsiders, fierce warriors, and, with few natural resources in their remote homeland on the southernmost tip of the Peloponnese, ruthless pirates. They had successfully managed to remain the one small region of Greece able to resist Ottoman rule. The well-guarded harbors and mountainous terrain deterred the Turks, so with little outside interference, the people of the Mani were left to govern themselves, which suited them perfectly.
At the sound of a rock skittering over the cobbled road, Alex whipped his head around, peering into the shadows, but he saw nothing. Likely another cat. He was getting jumpy. He said a quick prayer to St. Nikolaos and stepped off the road onto a dirt path that wound down a hill. Cicadas shrilled from the scrubby trees around him, and prickly bushes snagged at his trousers. He was soon walking in a sort of gorge between two mounds of earth. He shifted the bundle he carried when it no longer fit through the narrow space, making sure to place his feet carefully on the loose gravel. As he continued down the steep hill, the sound of waves grew louder.
The path emerged between two large rocks into a small cove. In the moonlight, a ship bobbed in the harbor nearly hidden by the cliff’s shadows.
The face of the rock split off, and Alex realized the dark shadow was in fact a man walking toward him. Behind the man, a flick of light grew into a flame, and a companion bearing a torch followed closely.
Alex remained still, knowing that any wrong move could be taken as a threat. He studied their silhouettes. One was tall with broad shoulders, the other smaller and softer around the waistline. But both carried themselves—and the short-bladed Turkish yataghans in their hands—in a self-assured way that let Alex know neither would permit him to leave alive if they sensed a threat.
The torchlight was behind the first man, keeping his face shadowed, but the flickers of the flame reveale
d the shorter man’s features—round cheeks and a thick mustache that lifted in a sneer.
The tall man spoke, “You are the Phanariot.”
Alex was surprised at the term. He and the other Greeks in Constantinople had often been referred to in this way, but he’d not expected the Maniot to use it. Perhaps the secluded people were not as ignorant of the larger world as he assumed. “Naí. Yes. My name is Alexandros Metaxas.”
The man grunted. “Constandinos Mavromichalis.”
He held out his hand, but when Alex took it, Constandinos spun him around, twisting his arm behind his back and holding it so tightly Alex was certain he’d hear the pop of his shoulder any moment.
Alex did not offer any resistance, though his natural reflex was to fight back. He could sense that a struggle was exactly what they hoped for. These men seemed to be itching for a confrontation.
The other man thrust the base of the torch into the pebbly beach to hold it in place. He patted his free hand up and down Alex’s torso, discovering and removing the pistol from the sash at his waist and then poking his fingers into the tops of Alex’s boots. Once they were assured he concealed no other weapons, his arm was released.
Sliding his saber back into the sheath at his waist, the shorter man loosened the fastenings of Alex’s parcel, opening it and lifting out the rifles carefully packed within. He hefted one, testing its weight and sighting down the barrel.
Alex took a step back, rolling his shoulder and massaging the ache. “Satisfied?” he asked.
Constandinos nodded. He moved around to face Alex. His face was hard and proud with a strong nose and heavy mustache that stretched over his cheeks to join the hair above his ears. His eyes were intelligent and expressive. Alex didn’t think it would take more than a small change for them to become either fiercely cruel or extremely kind. Alex knew immediately that Constandinos was the man to impress. He was a natural leader, and his stance indicated a seasoned fighter. The air around the man seemed alive with energy. Xánthos had been correct. The Maniot warriors were just the kind of men the Filiki Eteria needed.
Constandinos flicked the tip of his weapon toward the other man. “Themis, my cousin.” He did not re-sheathe his yataghan but held it at his side. “You are alone?”
“As you see. Only the messenger knows I am here.”
Themis continued to remove firearms from the parcel and dig through a sack of ammunition.
Constandinos held Alex’s gaze. “A strange request the messenger brought, Alexandros Metaxas. Why do you wish to visit the Mani?”
Alex knew his answer would decide his fate. He’d been recruited for this mission for the very reason that he could read people, understand what they kept hidden by the movement of their bodies and their subtle expressions. The skill had been developed and refined for years, and now he realized just how valuable it was. Constandinos would know in an instant if he were lying, and Alex knew the truth was the only option if he wanted to leave this beach alive.
“As you can see, I have access to merchandise that would be beneficial to your family and your people.”
“Why do you bring us weapons?”
Alex drew his brows together. This man was smart. Testing Alex by asking questions he already knew the answers to. “Why do you think?”
Constandinos scratched his neck. “We do not share the same enemy as the rest of Greece. The Turks do not rule the Mani.”
“But for how long?” Alex asked. “Do you think they will leave you alone forever? They already have a toehold in Laconia. The Outer Mani is plagued by the sultan’s armies, and soon they will not be satisfied. Even now, the Turks feed the feuds, hoping to weaken the Maniots as you kill off your own warriors.”
Themis snorted. “The Turks cannot manipulate us.”
“Silence, Themis.” Constandinos’s voice was barely heard over the flow of the water, but it carried a strength that sent a sliver of fear into Alex’s heart. “Alexandros Metaxas, why do you want to go to the Mani?”
Alex’s heart pounded. “I would like to meet with Petrobey.” He managed to push the words out through his dry mouth. He froze, waiting for the reaction that would determine whether he was run through with the Turkish blade.
At the sound of his leader’s name, Constandinos’s eyes widened ever so slightly. He stood still, his gaze on Alex. Finally, he lifted his chin. “Can we trust you?”
Alex felt a wave of relief that nearly made his knees weak but kept his face impassive. “I have told no falsehood.”
At the sound of loose gravel sliding, the three men turned their heads.
Themis darted toward the source of the noise with a speed that Alex would not have expected from the thickset man. He reached behind a boulder and seized what appeared to be a woman. Pulling her to her feet, he dragged her toward them and thrust her to her knees in the circle of light.
Alex’s gut compressed. Diana Snow! What on earth was she doing here?
Diana gasped as her knees hit the rocky ground. Her fair skin had lost any bit of color, but she did not weep or struggle. She held her chin up, her eyes moving between the men. “Unhand me at once, sir,” she said, and though she tried to conceal it, Alex heard a quiver in her voice. “Mr. Metaxas—”
A shove from Themis stopped her words.
Alex fought to keep his breathing steady and his face from betraying any sign of recognition. If only she would remain silent. Their lives depended on it.
“Who is this? Your spy?” Spittle flew from Themis’s mouth as he pulled his saber from its sheath.
Alex felt Constandinos’s gaze on him. A moment earlier, he’d been certain the man would see through any untruth, but now, Alex knew both his and Diana’s lives depended on his ability to deceive.
Alex curled his lip. “A woman?” He scoffed. “Surely I have better judgment than to trust a woman as my spy.”
“Who is she?” Constandinos’s voice was low, but Alex did not miss the threat contained in the tone.
Alex lifted a shoulder and drew down the corners of his lips. “I have never seen her before.” He did not know how much of the conversation Diana understood and did not dare look too closely to try to gauge. He prayed she would remain silent.
Themis stepped closer to Alex until his face was merely a few inches away. “She said your name.”
Alex sighed and with effort maintained his casual posture, though his pulse pounded through his ears. He waved his hand, as if exasperated. “She must have heard me introducing myself to you.” He moved his gaze over her in an unconcerned manner. Though the night was cool, beads of sweat stood out on Diana’s forehead. She appeared tensed, as if holding her emotions tightly, but he saw her lips tremble. Her gray eyes were wide and pleading.
Alex’s chest was tight. He turned away, shaking his head. “She appears to be British.” He smirked. “Probably does not understand a word we say.”
Themis tapped the tip of his saber beneath Diana’s chin. “Then if she is no friend of yours, it would not upset you if I were to dispose of her.”
Diana’s breath sped up, and she closed her eyes.
Alex’s chest seized, and he fought to keep his stance relaxed, even though every impulse screamed to jump to her defense. He wished she understood. I do this to save both of us. He wrinkled his nose as if the thought of murder was merely bothersome. “I could not care less. However, you should ensure that you do not leave any evidence on the beach.”
“He is right,” Constandinos said. “A dead woman would be cause for an investigation. We do not want anyone paying close attention to this harbor, and I’ll not chance the anger of the British navy.”
Cool relief slacked Alex’s muscles. He darted a glance toward Diana. She still looked terrified, but her gaze was fixed on him and anger had joined her expression. The betrayal in her eyes pierced him. He hoped for an opportunity to explain his actions.
“Should we sell her to the Venetians?” Themis slid the sword back into its scabbard.
Now th
at her life was no longer in peril, Alex’s thoughts returned to his mission. He could not allow Diana to go free, not knowing their names. “She has seen us together, seen the weapons, and cannot be allowed a chance to tell the tale, either in Italy, or here among her people.” He tapped his finger on his lip. “Perhaps she is most valuable as a hostage. She surely has friends or relations who would pay for her safe release. By the time she is returned, our deal will be complete, we will have gone our separate ways, and there will be no risk of interference.” He raised a brow. “And if you tell the story right, you will be heroes for rescuing her.”
“Take her to the Mani?” Constandinos pursed his lips and squinted. He remained silent for a moment before nodding once. “Yes, this is the best course. Petrobey will know what is to be done with her.” He left Alex’s side and strode to Diana, reaching out a hand and lifting her to her feet. “Do you speak Greek? What is your name?”
Diana clasped her hands together. “I speak a bit. My name is Miss Snow.”
“You will come with us, Missno.” He said the name slowly, as if the sounds felt strange in his mouth. “And you will not make any trouble. Do you understand?”
Diana nodded. She followed Constandinos toward the small boat that would take them to his ship. She held her skirts, taking unsteady steps on the rocky beach. Alex wondered if her knees were bruised from the rough treatment.
Themis indicated for Alex to follow, then lifted the parcel of weapons onto his shoulder and pulled the torch from the ground.
As the firelight moved over the beach, something white caught Alex’s eyes. He squinted and moved closer until he recognized his white gloves. His throat thickened as Diana’s reason for following him became clear. Surely she did not follow me all this way to return my gloves.
A Place For Miss Snow Page 3